The Namesake
by arts and letters
Summary: If Sherlock was being completely truthful, he would have to admit that he hadn't fully considered the ramifications of naming his newly acquired dog after his former flat mate. [Sequel to "Hamish"]


A/N This is a short sequel to my earlier story, Hamish. This story will make more sense if you read that one first.

It all started when Sherlock sent John a text. No words, just a picture of a puppy with long ears and large paws, sitting proudly in John's chair, gaze pointed straight at the camera.

A few moments later, Sherlock's phone rang.

"Sherlock, what is this?"

"That's my dog."

"Your—you got a dog?"

"Well, a puppy, actually."

"A puppy? You have a puppy? A living puppy?" John paused for a moment, thinking—his mind working so loudly that Sherlock could hear it from the other end of the phone—before he added, "Christ, please tell me this isn't for an experiment."

"John, what kind of monster do you think I am? I'll have you know that Hamish has received nothing but the best of care since he came into my possession."

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"I said, _What kind of monster—_oh, yes."

If Sherlock was being completely truthful, he would have to admit that he hadn't fully considered the ramifications of naming his newly acquired dog after his former flat mate.

"Hamish? Did you name your dog after me?"

This had the potential to be very awkward. He would have to think quickly to salvage the situation.

Fortunately, he's always been very good at dissembling.

"I can't see what objection you could possibly have. You positively begged me to do something like this."

"What on earth are you talking about? Have you hit your head? Or are you just trying to fuck with me? Because Sherlock, god help me, I am really not in the mood—"

"John, please control yourself. How can you have forgotten that little exchange that we had in front of The Woman?"

"Frankly, Sherlock, I've worked very hard to wipe that entire experience from my memory."

"Well, I'll remind you," Sherlock answered, helpfully. "And I quote," he switched to his best 'John' voice, "Hamish. John _Hamish_ Watson. In case you were looking for baby names."

"Okay, I suppose I did say that, but first of all, I didn't mean it—"

"Really, John, haven't you learned not to say things you don't—"

"And secondly, this is a dog, not a child."

"Don't let Hamish hear you say that. He'd be very offended."

Sherlock continued, pretending as if he didn't hear the frustrated sigh from the other end of the phone.

"Anyway, it's too late now. It's the only name he responds to."

John hadn't quite regained the power of speech, so Sherlock kept on talking.

"I suppose you should come over to meet your namesake at some point. He's quite the sociable fellow. Particularly fond of Molly. I'm trying to train him to attack Mycroft on command, but the closest I've gotten to that is Hamish chewing on his shoes laces. Still, he's very clever, so I'm sure he'll catch on eventually. Just yesterday I taught him—"

At this point, John relented, if only to get Sherlock to stop.

"Okay! Okay, I'll come over and meet your bloody dog. At the very least, I want to make sure you aren't torturing the poor animal."

"I'm wounded, John, truly."

Despite his words, Sherlock didn't sound the least bit offended. He seemed in relatively good spirits, actually.

"Meet me at Baker Street in two hours and bring your gun. Lestrade has a crime scene he wants me to take a look at."

"Sherlock, I do have my own life—"

"Really—"

"Fine, I'll be there." John had learned that at a certain point, with Sherlock, it's just better to surrender.

"Excellent. It's Hamish's very first case. I think he'll turn out to be quite an asset."

Before John had a chance to hang up, Sherlock added, "And John, if you decide to write about Hamish in your little blog, be sure to include some pictures. He's quite a handsome fellow. It's certain to enhance your readership."

John decided that last comment did not merit a response, but as he went to hang up the phone—just before he pressed the end button—he could have sworn he heard in the background, _Yes, you're a very handsome boy, and such a clever dog— _

He wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned, but John was sure of one thing. It would all be worth it to see the look on Lestrade's face when Sherlock showed up at the crime scene with a puppy

Now that—that was something he would have to get a picture of.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought of the story. At some point I may add another installment to this series, possibly a "Hamish's First Case" story.


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